It took him 20 years, but Jake Heaps finally learned there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
Almost two years ago, Heaps was the No. 1 high school prospect and was being wooed by schools like Oklahoma, Florida, Washington and Notre Dame. Things were looking so good, he didn’t need high school anymore. Before his springtime graduation he left his hometown of Issaquah, Wash., to train with the Cougars for the 2010 season.
But the road to the NFL became less Easy Street and more Trail of Tears.
Success came almost automatically to Heaps at Skyline High School. When a school’s demographics are based on geography, peers and teammates are based on random sampling.
There might be one or two young athletes with professional aspirations within a given 100-mile radius, but most competition is made up of kids who thought sports would bring them popularity or would simply be something fun to do after school.
Heaps wasn’t the only god among mere mortals. I would guess most of us on this campus had a similar experience. We were stars on our sports teams, concert bands, jazz choirs, student councils or other organizations in high school. Most of us were raised with a culture and philosophy that valued education, realizing potential and always doing our best. And we rose above the crowd. We won varsity letters, first chair, the lead role, the class presidency or a prom queen tiara. We were hometown heroes, and our high school days were our glory days.
Then, we came to BYU.
Now, our fellow overachievers have squeezed into a two-mile radius like sardines. We’re no longer the only valedictorian in our class, and we’re no longer the only accomplished pianist in our ward. Auditions and try-outs are no longer cakewalks. While we used to achieve almost at will, now it’s a struggle to be Joe or Jane College.
Heaps was skilled enough to win the most prominent spot in BYU’s most prominent group of students. But it wasn’t secure or permanent. Just like us, obstacles kept him from coasting his way to the ultimate prize.
I don’t mean to undermine the abilities of Heaps or anyone else at BYU. Just because it’s harder to stand out doesn’t mean all is lost. Even when our surroundings change, our talents are still the same. Whether we fill our checklist or rip it up in frustration, we aren’t failures.
A long list of awards and honors is not really what defines us anyway. We show who we truly are when things don’t go our way. What proves us is our response to adversity.
I imagine most of us at BYU have had to learn to adapt. We might have to manage the stage instead of taking the center of it, or listen and smile while someone else sings the solo.
Maybe we even had to change our major.
When we don’t get everything we want, the question then becomes our attitude. Are we genuinely happy for our friends and classmates who get ahead? Do we still find ways to contribute to the group’s overall goal? And can we do it without complaining and becoming a burden? Can we still find genuine happiness for ourselves?
Personally, I wish Heaps would stick it out at BYU, like all of us have. I wish when he thought of BYU, he would think of loyalty and tradition instead of whether it’s the best path to the NFL.
But for Heaps and for some of us, maybe the best way to adapt is to abandon our original plans and start over somewhere new. I certainly don’t wish for Heaps to fall. He learned a lesson all of us have to learn, and maybe a switch will turn out to be the best option for him.
Hey, if he transfers to a Pac-12 school, maybe he could beat the Utes a couple of times for us.
J.J. Despain is the web editor for The Daily Universe. This viewpoint represents his opinion and not necessarily that of The Daily Universe, BYU, its administration or The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
